Teenage Tribulations
by Angelic Guardian
Summary: Peer pressure, growing up and the ongoing torment of unrequited love all await Helga in time for the high school freshman dance. Oneshot.


**Author's Note:** My muse has beckoned me to write another Hey Arnold! fic, and so I've obliged.

I have to say, while Arnold has always been the voice of reason, there are other aspects of his character that went through noticeable shifts over the course of the series each time he got a new voice actor. Season 1 Arnold has more of a soulful, laidback vibe to him, Seasons 2-3 Arnold is more innocent and Seasons 4-5 Arnold is more serious.

Personally my favorite version of Arnold is the second one because he's so sweet and adorable, and he genuinely saw through Helga's meanness. Perfect example is the first scene of School Play, which is one of my top three favorite episodes, the other two being Helga on the Couch and Parents Day.

First Arnold has grown on me a lot as well, though, and what strikes me most is that he and Helga are more on the same wavelength compared to his later iterations. I'm particularly fond of the classics, Arnold's Christmas and Arnold's Valentine.

As you can see I have a lot of feelings about this show, haha. On that note, I hope you enjoy this fic. :)

 **Disclaimer:** Hey Arnold! © Craig Bartlett

* * *

"High school really bites."

Truer words had never been spoken, and by Stinky Peterson, of all people.

"You can say that again, Stinko," Helga said, sitting next to him in homeroom.

Two months into high school and already it sucked. For starters, there was a lot more work, the subjects more challenging, the teachers more stringent, the tests more difficult. Then there were the students, who all had their cliques, which infuriated Helga to no end. Back in elementary school, she was the boss, but now, in high school, she was at the bottom of the social hierarchy, and she absolutely _loathed_ it.

She folded her arms over her chest, a chest which, she'd quickly come to realize, wasn't quite as _prominent_ compared to the other girls in her grade. Apparently there were some lucky people in the oh-so-cruel world of puberty after all. Just about every girl in the entire school walked around in low-cut blouses and too-tight skirts. Helga's wardrobe, on the other hand, consisted of plain t-shirts, faded jeans and a pink beanie, as she'd come to find that if she wanted to gain any semblance of respect from her peers, a pink bow just wasn't going to cut it anymore. She'd grudgingly come to accept the fact that, as a high school freshman, she was a small fish in a big pond, and she knew she'd have to live with it, at least until she could figure out a way to climb herself to the top.

In the meantime, she distracted herself with her classes, since there was nothing better for her to do during the school day. Specifically, there was no enigmatic, football-headed boy, bane of her existence, for her to torment and secretly pine for all day. In fact, she only had one class with him, a class that sadly only met once a week, but a class that also just so happened to be next period.

Currently, Helga sat in math class, mindlessly scribbling numbers and graphs in her notebook while doodling tiny hearts and footballs in the margins as she counted the minutes until the bell would ring. She would tear through the hallway and be the first student to arrive to the next class, where she'd get to see Arnold for a blissful, uninterrupted forty-two minutes, of which she savored each and every second.

Sure enough, the second the bell rang, Helga was the first one out the door. She fled down the stairs and burst through the doors of her next class, beaming, looking over the big, open room and all its glory: scuffed floors, blue bleachers, brand spanking new athletic equipment, tall basketball hoops, nasty locker rooms.

Gym class.

"Pataki. First one here, as always," the gym teacher said, clearly impressed. She was a burly woman, one who knew how to lay down the law whenever the students would get too out of hand. She lugged a large mesh bag over her shoulder, which she dropped in the middle of the gymnasium floor. "Good news. We're playing dodgeball today."

"Sa- _weet,"_ Helga said with a pump of her fist. She happily headed into the locker room to change into her gym attire, a smirk burning at her lips in growing anticipation. It always felt good to get the blood flowing with some healthy physical activity, not to mention, to unleash some of her bottled-up aggression.

"Okay, kids, you know the rules," the teacher said, clutching a silver whistle hanging around her neck. "No hitting anybody in the face, and preferably not in the crotch, either. Any other body part is fair game. Have at it!"

She blew her whistle, and the game of dodgeball commenced. The students ran around as bright red dodgeballs flew back and forth across the room. As for Helga, she had her target set on one person and one person only. Gripping the thick rubber ball in her hands, she heaved it with all her might. It whipped threw the air and hit Arnold square in the stomach, knocking him flat on his back. Helga jumped victoriously and let out a ferocious laugh.

The longer Arnold stayed on the ground, however, the increasingly _less_ sweet her victory became. In fact, it turned altogether sour when a pretty, petite girl in their class wandered over to Arnold and kneeled down beside him, a look of deep concern on her face.

"Are you okay, Arnold?" she asked in her sickly-sweet voice. Her long, thick braid swept across her skinny shoulder as she leaned down and clasped both of her hands over one of Arnold's hands to help him to his feet.

"Yeah," he said, a bit breathlessly, putting a hand to his stomach. "I got the wind knocked out of me for a second, but I'm okay. Thanks, Anna."

She smiled at him, brown eyes twinkling, and her olive skin tinged pink when she glanced down to see that she was still holding Arnold's hand. Giggling nervously, she let go and slipped her hands behind her back.

"You're welcome," she said.

Arnold grinned back at her, and it was at that exact moment that Helga's heart split in two. It was also at that exact moment that a dodgeball soared towards her, smacking her right in the face. She barely reacted with more than an involuntary wince, but it only got worse as the piercing sound of their gym teacher's whistle cut through her ears.

"Dammit, I said no hitting anybody in the face, you little urchins! Pataki, are you all right?"

The game stopped. Everyone fell silent. Helga could feel every single person in the room staring at her. Some of them looked worried, but she was smart enough to know they weren't worried about whether she was all right. All they were worried about was if they were somehow all going to get in trouble just because she'd managed to get hit in the face with a stupid dodgeball.

Her cheek throbbed hotly, begging to be iced, but the stinging in her face was nothing compared to the far more painful sting of humiliation and heartache working their way through her body, fighting for control. Without thinking, she looked at Arnold, and she regretted it the millisecond she did, as it led to an unexpected onslaught of tears pricking against the corners of her eyes. She fought back the tears with every last bit of crumpled up, chewed up and spit out shred of dignity she had left.

"Yes," she said, lying straight through her teeth. "I'm all right."

* * *

Helga sat in history class with her eyes glued to the clock as the teacher droned on and on. The school day was just about over, and it couldn't have come soon enough. After the whole dodgeball fiasco, she'd left gym class early and gone to the nurse's office to ice her face, but she'd declined the offer to be excused from her following class until she felt better. For one thing, she was no wuss, and anyway, the throbbing had gone down substantially within the first few minutes of placing the ice pack against her cheek. More importantly, though, she couldn't be cooped up in the nurse's office with nothing to occupy herself but her own thoughts, especially when all she could think about was the nauseating image of that prissy little _Anna_ girl staring at Arnold with her big, dumb, goo goo eyes.

She stabbed her pen into her notebook so hard she tore the paper a little bit. Suddenly, she froze, as a strange suspicion crept over her, a feeling that she was being watched. When she turned her head, her suspicion was indeed confirmed, in the form of a green-eyed pretty boy with chestnut brown hair blatantly staring at her. Of course, the moment they made eye contact, he looked away, thrusting his face into his textbook, a gesture that was far from inconspicuous, but Helga didn't think much of it. This wasn't the first time she'd caught him staring at her for no reason at all, but she never bothered to ask him about it. She saw that kid around school all the time. His name was Nate Roberts, and he was a stereotypical jock, well-liked by his peers, always making people laugh, the obvious ring-leader of his social circle. He and Helga had spoken a handful of times, mostly about how tough their latest pop quiz had been.

He was charismatic, possessing a natural talent for winning people over with nothing more than a simple compliment. Lots of girls fawned over him, but Helga couldn't say she saw what was so appealing about him. Sure, he was good-looking, in an obvious, supermodel kind of way, and sure, he was friendly and likable and fun to talk to, but despite all that, there was nothing about him that particularly stood out to her as anything special. He was definitely no Arnold, that was for sure.

The bell spliced through the dreariness of their history teacher's boring lecture, at last ending the particularly awful school day. As Helga scooped up her books and headed for the door, she heard Nate call her name. He caught up with her as she entered the hallway, which filled up with kids eagerly spilling out of their classrooms.

"I heard some idiot nailed you in the face with a dodgeball today," he said.

Helga cringed, though it wasn't because she was re-living the still fresh memory of getting hit with the ball, but instead, because the heart-shattering image of Arnold smiling at _that girl_ unwillingly flashed through her mind. Her nails dug into the metal rings of her notebook, but on the exterior, she feigned nonchalance by scoffing.

"Yeah, but I bounced back like _that,"_ she said with a snap of her fingers.

"You're so badass, Helga," Nate said, and there was a warmth to his voice that genuinely caught Helga off guard. Either the look of surprise on her face was as plain as day, or Nate himself realized his own slip-up. Whatever the case, he promptly slapped the goofy-looking grin off his face and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Anyway, I gotta get to practice. I'll see you tomorrow?"

The only thing weirder than him posing that last part as a question was the fact that he didn't even wait for her to respond. He turned in the opposite direction, where one of his friends greeted him with a hearty slap on the back. Helga watched the interaction for a second or two, only to shrug and turn the other way, heading for her locker.

Little did she know, Nate looked over his shoulder and let his eyes linger on her for a little bit longer.

* * *

As the week wore on, there was an increasing buzz in the air over one particular topic, a topic it seemed all anybody in their class could talk about: the freshman dance.

"Wait until you all see the outfit my parents bought me to wear to the dance on Friday. It's a gorgeous, silver cocktail dress with sequins along the bust. Totally chic," Rhonda said boastfully, sitting at a lunch table with a couple of her new friends, girls who, while not quite as stuck-up and fashion-obsessed as her, were still pretty high up there in terms of being total airheads.

Helga was an occupant at the table as well, though it was mostly out of habit than anything else. Plus, she figured she'd rather suffer through Rhonda Lloyd's mindless, self-absorbed prattling than be caught dead sitting with any of the geeky kids.

"Speaking of the dance," one of the girls said, a girl whose hair was so curly and so blonde she literally looked Goldilocks. "Have any of you heard if Nate Roberts has asked anyone to go with him yet?"

At the mention of his name, there was a collective squeal throughout the entire table that made Helga briefly look up from her cheap cafeteria food and grimace in annoyance.

"Oh, my gosh, Nate is the absolute _cutest,_ " a girl with red hair said, clasping her hands together as she practically swooned right then and there. "Whoever gets to go with him is easily the luckiest girl in the whole class."

"Well, I don't mean to brag, but I happen to know a thing or two about popularity," Rhonda said. "And, since Nate _is_ the most popular boy in our class, and yours truly, the most popular girl, it only makes sense that he and I would make the perfect match."

"No offense, Rhonda, but I totally have a way deeper connection with Nate than you do," Goldilocks said. "One time, our eyes locked by the water fountain. It was _magical."_

Helga inwardly gagged. These girls were beyond pathetic.

"What about you, Helga?" Ms. Redhead McGee asked. "Don't you just wish Nate would ask _you_ to the dance?"

The look of disgust dropped from Helga's face as she looked around to see all the girls now staring at her expectantly. Her heart lurched at the thought of saying what was truly on her mind, that is, that the only person she'd ever want to go to some stupid dance with was the same boy she'd been in love with since she was three years old, the very boy she still acted as if she hated because she was a complete and utter _coward._

"I couldn't care less about the dance," Helga said, and the loud gasps she received from everyone at the table only spurred her on. She smirked, raising her chin defiantly and crossing her arms. "That's right, girls, you heard me. I'd rather get every single one of my teeth pulled out with a pair of rusty pliers than get all dolled up in some frilly little dress and waste my Friday night in a sweaty gymnasium dancing to terrible pop music all night."

While the girls looked downright appalled to hear this news, there was only one girl who wasn't at all convinced, and she wasn't afraid to make it known.

"Oh, _please,_ Helga," Rhonda said. "You can deny it all you want, but you and I both know the _real_ reason you claim to hate dances is because you're afraid nobody's going to ask you. And, honestly, as I've been telling you for years, if you made even the tiniest bit of effort with your appearance and dressed slightly more, how should I say, _ladylike,_ I have no doubt the boys would be all over you."

"News flash, princess, I don't care about boys _being all over me,"_ Helga said snidely. "I've got more important things to worry about than letting a bunch of disgusting boys who are all hopped up on hormones take turns feeling me up. And, I'll tell you what else, I don't care what _you_ have to say, either, because I stand by what I said. Dances are nothing but a waste of time, and the only time you'll see me at one is when pigs fly. Got it?"

They all looked at Rhonda, who merely shut her eyes and turned her nose up with a sweep of her hair. The bell rang seconds later, and Helga picked up her lunch tray, dumped the contents into the garbage and stormed off to her next class with her fists clenched a bit more tightly than usual.

* * *

By the time study hall arrived, Helga couldn't have been more relieved, as it was not only a free period to take a nap or read a comic book or pretty much do whatever the hell she damn well pleased, it was also the one and only period she shared with her best friend.

"So, what's the dirt today, Pheebs? Anything good?" Helga asked as she plopped into her usual desk in the back of the room.

Phoebe seemed particularly jumpy today, as if she were running with an extra shot of energy in her veins. She unceremoniously dropped her pile of books on her desk, sending loose papers flying everywhere. Flustered, she scrambled to pick them up, and Helga, confused for a second, leaned down to help her.

"Geez, what's with you?" she asked, holding out a handful of papers to her.

"Oh, it's nothing, Helga, nothing at all," Phoebe said, not even looking at her as she scooped up handfuls of her notes from the floor. "Well, actually, it _is_ something, something quite exciting, something I've been secretly longing would happen, and now that it finally has, I suppose you could say I'm beside myself."

"Well, come on, quit blabbering and tell me what it—"

"Gerald asked me to the dance!"

Helga stopped, catching her best friend's gaze. The girl was _glowing_ , looking happier than she'd ever looked in her entire life. She was so happy it actually rubbed off on Helga a little bit, and she let herself smile.

"Wow," she said. "I gotta say, it's about damn time. You've only been in love with the kid since, what, Kindergarten? I'm just glad tall hair boy finally grew a pair and asked you out himself before someone else realized what a catch you are and asked you first."

"Thanks, Helga," Phoebe said, her natural meekness slowly returning as she took the papers from her and sat down. "I have to admit, as excited as I am in anticipation for the dance, I'm equally just as nervous, what with the knowledge that this will be our first official date. Given the added romantic component to the evening, I can't help but speculate over some of the more obvious social conventions associated with such a milestone."

"What, you mean like if you guys are finally gonna kiss?"

A splash of red coated Phoebe's cheeks, and Helga, feeling sympathetic, decided to spare her best friend the mortification of wandering too far down a conversational road she clearly wasn't comfortable to take right now.

"Eh, don't sweat it," she said. "When the timing's right, you'll be ready. Just relax and have a good time, and you can call me up and tell me all about it as soon as you get home. I'll probably just be watching wrestling or something."

"Oh," Phoebe said, frowning in disappointment. "In other words, you've decided against attending the dance yourself. I realize you're not exactly fond of wearing formal attire, or makeup, or high heels, and while I've always admired your confidence for being unafraid to be who you are, I must say, I can't imagine going to the dance without my best friend there."

"First of all, don't you dare start getting all mushy on me. You know that crap doesn't work on me," Helga said. "And second of all, yes, I've made up my mind that I definitely will _not_ be going to the dumb dance. And before you ask, no, it's not because no one's asked me. It's because I hate dances."

"Very well. Although, you know, Helga," Phoebe said, dropping her voice to a whisper, "I don't believe— _ice cream_ has asked anyone yet."

Helga blinked, feeling a jump in her chest, as if her heart had been shot by an arrow of hope. She squashed it down, though, and threw open a random book to make it seem like she was busy.

"We're done here, Phoebe," she said, successfully putting an end to the conversation before it had ever really begun.

* * *

By the time the school day was over, two things had happened that ended up changing Helga's mind about her initial refusal to go to the dance. The first was a conversation she overheard while heading to her last class of the day. Upon hearing the unmistakable, annoyingly soft voice belonging to none other than Anna, Helga stopped in her tracks and hid behind some lockers to eavesdrop.

"I can't wait! Me and Arnold, going to the dance together! It's going to be so much fun," Anna said, completely over the moon and _gushing,_ which made Helga want to puke.

"That's great, girl! I'm happy for you. He seems like a really nice guy," her friend said. "Except, he does kind of have a weird-shaped head."

"I know, but I still think he's cute," Anna said, giggling.

They walked past Helga, who released a low growl and felt her blood boil as she narrowed her eyes at Anna. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to run up to her, yank her by her long, shiny black hair and scream, _"Back off, sister, he's_ my _football head!"_

Only he wasn't. Not even close. And, at this rate, he never would be. With that disheartening revelation, Helga deflated and headed to class with the weight of her own melancholy reality hanging over her head like a dark storm cloud.

The second thing that happened involved the one and only popular, pretty-boy jock catching up to Helga after the final bell rang. She was at her locker, jamming books in her backpack, when he blurted out a question that brought her to a dead halt.

"Do you want to go to the dance with me?" Nate asked _._

Many thoughts ran through Helga's mind in that moment, namely, the fact that this guy could get literally _any_ girl he wanted in the entire class, so why was he asking _her_ of all people? What was his angle? Did he actually _like her?_

She realized there were a lot of ways she could play this, such as the hard-to-get approach, or, her personal favorite, the full-blown rejection. Ultimately, however, she decided to feel him out a bit more, find out what his intentions were, see if she could possibly use this opportunity to her own social advantage.

"Hmm. You pose an interesting question, Natey-boy," Helga said, slamming her locker shut and hiking the strap of her backpack over her shoulder. "Hypothetically, if I were to say yes, you wouldn't be expecting me to, y'know, _do stuff_ with you, would you?"

"Do stuff? Like what, dance?" Nate asked, which only made Helga roll her eyes. Boys could be such clueless idiots sometimes.

"No, I don't mean _dance,"_ she said. "Knock it off with your cool guy dumbness and let your mind roll around in the gutter for a second. I'm talking about _dirty_ stuff. You know, a rousing game of tonsil hockey, some good old fashioned groping, that kind of stuff. 'Cause, let me make one thing loud and clear to you, if you think I'm going to be some cheap date who's going to give it up to a guy I barely know, even if that guy happens to be the hottest commodity in the entire ninth grade class, you can just forget the whole thing right now and find some slutty bimbo to go with you instead. But, if you're willing to show me some respect and prove to me that you're more than just a pretty face, then sure, I guess I'll do you the favor and go to the dance with you. So, what do you say? Is it a date?"

Nate silently stared at her with those green eyes of his, and Helga had to admit, he really did have a gorgeous pair of eyes. The fact that they reminded her of Arnold's eyes was definitely a huge plus. She watched as his face lit up with a captivating smile.

"It's a date," he said.

Helga, in spite of everything, found herself smiling back at him.

* * *

The night before the dance consisted of Helga tagging along with an all-too-excited Phoebe to go dress shopping. After picking out a lavender, scoop neck dress with a touch of lace for herself, Phoebe helped Helga choose a simple black dress with a pink satin ribbon around the waist. The garment was elegant and surprisingly comfortable, and even Helga had to concede with Phoebe that she did look good in it.

Now, sitting in the passenger's seat of her mother's car and already running late to the dance, Helga hadn't anticipated the restless feeling she had in her stomach. Maybe it was because she didn't feel like herself, wearing this new dress with matching black heels that were already making her feet hurt. She'd even put some effort into her hair, which she'd chosen to wear down for the formal occasion, with a barrette clipped in the back to keep her hair out of her eyes.

"Thanks again for the ride, Mom," she said.

"Anytime, sweetheart," Miriam said as she pulled up in front of the building. "If you need anything, just call. I've got nothing going on tonight except for my weekly meet— _book club."_

"Right, right," Helga said, willing to play along with the guise for her mother's sake. She was proud of her mom for slowly but surely turning her life around by getting the help she needed. As a result, things around the house were getting better. Even Bob wasn't as insufferable to be around, being much more supportive and much less of an obnoxious jackass. "How's that book club of yours been going, anyway?

"Oh, Helga, it's positively _enlightening,"_ Miriam said, spreading her fingers above the steering wheel. "I'm halfway through, just finished step six."

"I think you mean _chapter_ six, right?"

"Oh! Yes, you're right," Miriam said with a chuckle. Her face softened as she reached out and cupped a hand beneath her daughter's chin, something Helga didn't care for in the slightest, but she sucked it up and let her mother do it anyway. "Look at you, all grown up and going to your first high school dance. You know, I have a feeling this is going to be a truly wonderful night for you."

"Yeah, sure," Helga said, not even close to being convinced. "Can you please let go of my face now?"

"Oopsie," Miriam said, letting out another chuckle as she let her hand slip away. "Sorry. I forgot you don't like that. Have fun tonight, okay, honey? I love you."

"Thanks, Mom. I love you, too."

Helga got out of the car and waved goodbye as her mom drove off. Taking a deep breath to steel her unsettled nerves, she turned to the school and headed for the double doors to the gymnasium, where the dance was being held. A group of kids lingered outside, all of them dressed in expensive-looking suits and sparkling dresses. At the center of the group was none other than Nate, wearing a gray suit and blue tie, his hair all nice and styled. He was making everyone laugh, as usual, but, when he saw Helga, he immediately broke away from the crowd and rushed up to meet her.

"Helga! Hi! Wow. You look _beautiful."_

"Heh, gee, thanks, I— _whoa,_ okay."

He'd enveloped her in a hug, one she belatedly returned, albeit with far less enthusiasm. When he let go, he took her by the hand and led her over to his picture-perfect group of friends, none of whom Helga knew personally, although she recognized some of the guys from the football team, along with some of the girls who were cheerleaders.

"Come on, you're just in time," Nate said.

"For _what?"_ Helga asked, her voice unintentionally brimming with annoyance, because, well, he was literally _dragging_ her.

"You'll see," he said.

The group walked past the gym entrance and headed around the school, all of them snickering and speaking in hushed tones along the way.

* * *

 _Keep it cool. Keep it cool. Keep it cool._

Gerald repeated this mantra to himself throughout the night, specifically every time Phoebe looked up at him and grinned in that shy yet beguiling way of hers. They were dancing together, holding each other closely, and so far, everything seemed to be going well.

Standing close by were Arnold and Anna, the two in an innocent embrace as they danced together an arm's length apart. Anna stared up at Arnold with stars in her eyes. As she moved in a bit closer to him, she accidentally stepped on his foot. Immediately, she drew back in horror.

"Oh, my gosh! I'm so, so sorry, Arnold!" she said, bringing her hands to her face. "I'm such an idiot!"

"It's fine, really," Arnold said, baffled by her abrupt overreaction, which only grew worse as she covered her eyes and shook her head profusely.

"No, no, no, I'm screwing _everything_ up, and now you probably _hate_ me," Anna said, on the brink of a meltdown.

For a moment, Arnold simply gaped at her, having no clue what to say here. Was she being serious? Out of desperation, he glanced over at Gerald, as if silently seeking advice on how to handle this conundrum. Gerald looked even more confused than he was, though, and all he could offer him was an empathetic shrug.

"I don't hate you, Anna," Arnold finally said. "I promise, it's really not a big deal at all. Okay?"

Anna peeked at him from between her fingers. Slowly, she lowered her hands from her face.

"Okay," she said, smiling in relief. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"You're welcome," Arnold said, even as he felt a sudden wave of discomfort settle deeply in his stomach, though he wasn't sure why. Maybe he needed a breather. "Hey, listen, do you mind if we sit down for a little while?"

"Of course not. I'll be happy to do whatever you want to do," Anna said. "In fact, if you want, I could get you some punch, or maybe even some chips. Would you like that, Arnold?"

"Uh…"

He hadn't realized he'd been backing away from her until he hit a wall, and he jumped, which, in turn, made Anna frown deeply.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Did I do something wrong? You are mad at me, aren't you? I _knew_ it. I'm such a fool."

"No, no, I'm not mad at you," Arnold said. Confused beyond belief, yes, but he kept that to himself. "Let's just go sit down, okay?"

Anna grinned again, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as she chirped, "Okay!"

* * *

"Okay," Nate said, finally letting go of Helga's hand. "This is the spot. Hurry up, guys, before someone sees us."

As Helga angrily wiped her palm against her dress, she looked around and wondered why the hell Nate had led them all to this dark, cramped corner behind the football field bleachers. However, her annoyed mood vanished when she saw one of the kids pulling out a metal flask, and now, bewilderment took its place.

"Is that… _booze?"_ she asked.

The kid uncapped the flask and took a long swig from it, cringing and coughing a few times, before he passed it to the girl beside him.

"Sure is," he said. "It's vodka. Good shit. Don't worry, there's plenty more with this came from."

Meanwhile, Nate had pulled out a pack of cigarettes and was currently fishing around in his pockets.

"Crap," he said, an unlit cigarette pressed between his lips. "Anyone got a lighter?"

"Right here, Nate!" another one of the kids said, holding it up.

After lighting up his cigarette, Nate took a drag and blew out the puff of smoke in a long exhale. He motioned for the flask, and the girl who'd been drinking from it pouted, but obediently handed it over to him. Bringing the flask straight to his lips, Nate knocked back a heavy dose and coughed hard.

"Damn, that burns. Here, Helga," he said, offering it to her.

She reflexively took a step back as she said, "You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"C'mon, have some. It'll loosen you up," Nate said, shaking the flask, as if to tempt her with it. "It's fun."

 _"Fun?"_ Helga said in a full-out sneer. "You think this is _fun?"_

"Hey, quit shouting, would ya, loud chick?" the first kid said. "You're ruining my buzz!"

"Yeah, loud chick, don't you want to be cool?" the dumb girl next to him asked. "Just shut up and get drunk with us."

The two of them grabbed each other and started sloppily making out, pawing at each other like a pair of wild, ravenous dogs. Helga wrinkled her nose at the sight, yet somehow, she couldn't bring herself to tear her eyes away from it. It was like watching a car wreck. She jolted when an arm slung around her shoulder.

"See, doesn't that look like fun?" Nate asked.

Before he could even give Helga a chance to answer, he dipped his head and planted his wet lips against her neck. She reacted instantaneously, shoving him off of her so hard he stumbled backwards and fell on his ass, splashing vodka on the pavement.

"Shit!" he said, clutching the flask to his chest before he could lose another drop of the precious liquor, the cigarette still burning in his other hand. He guzzled down some more hooch and wiped his mouth with his sleeve as he looked up at Helga. "What'd you do that for, huh? I thought you were _cool!_ "

"Yeah, well, if you guys call this _cool,_ I'd much rather stick to being a loser," Helga said, and she turned to leave, only to stop and add, "Oh, and by the way, you'd better find someone else to cheat off of in history instead of me from now on, _Nate."_

"Hey! Helga, wait!" Nate said as she walked away. "Where are you going?"

Helga didn't break her stride, or even bother turning around as she answered, "To be with my _real_ friends."

* * *

Wearing her silver cocktail dress, Rhonda danced with a large group of her friends, including Nadine, Sheena and the two girls she and Helga sat with at lunch. The redheaded one looked around curiously.

"Hey, have any of you seen Helga and Nate yet?" she asked.

"Not yet," the blonde said. "You know what? I bet he stood her up. After all, Nate's way too cool for a girl like Helga."

"Aw, can it, Goldilocks," Helga said, storming her way through the dance floor.

"Helga," Rhonda said in surprise. "You actually showed up. And you actually look _pretty._ Oh, but you're all alone. My gosh, so it _is_ true, then. Nate really _did_ stand you up, didn't he? Wow. How dreadfully mortifying. If I were you, I'd never want to show my face around school again."

"Spare me the theatrics, Ms. Fashionista," Helga said mockingly. "Nate didn't stand me up. In fact, _I_ walked out on _him."_

The girls all gasped, each of them chiming in all at once.

"You did?"

"Really?"

"Why?"

 _"Why?"_ Helga said. "I'll tell you _why,_ the guy's a total moron, that's _why._ Now, if you'll all excuse me, I'm about ready to blow this popsicle stand. See ya around, _girls."_

She promptly stalked off, scoping out the vicinity to find her best friend, the pounding music and twisting bodies and smiling kids all having a good time only irking her all the more. When she spotted Gerald's tall hair from across the room, she made a beeline towards him. She soon saw Phoebe, who welcomed her with a friendly smile.

"Hello, Helga. I was pondering your whereabouts mere moments ago. Where's Nate?"

"Outside getting hammered," Helga said hastily, and before Phoebe could cut in with any questions, she answered them on her own, "Yeah, yeah, long story short, the guy's a tool, and no, I didn't drink. Turns out I've got more morals than I thought I did. Who knew? Anyway, I only came by to tell you I'm bailing this dance. I know you wanted me to stay, but I can't stand being here a second longer. My feet are killing me, I've ditched my lame excuse for a date, but most of all, I'm _sick_ to _death_ of trying to be something I'm not. I'm not cool or popular or pretty. I'm just Helga. And Helga _hates_ dances. So, I'll see you later or something, all right? And as for, _you,_ Geraldo." He flinched when she pointed at him. "You'd better be on your best behavior tonight, 'cause if you're not, believe you me, I'll have no problem breaking out Old Betsy." She wound up her fist and smacked it into her palm, before dropping her shoulders as she said woodenly, "Have a nice night."

She didn't wait for either of them to say anything in return, and instead she simply walked away, stomping towards the exit in her high heels.

Meanwhile, sitting by himself while his date was in the bathroom, Arnold had managed to overhear every word of Helga's speech. Now, those observant green eyes of his followed her the whole way out, until she'd disappeared from view. Even after she was gone, he kept his gaze fixated on the door, as though waiting for her to come back, and when she didn't, he felt a strange but clear pang of disappointment in his chest, though again, he wasn't sure why.

* * *

"Hey, uh…Helga was just playing with all that Old Betsy stuff she was talking about earlier, right?" Gerald asked later that night as he walked Phoebe home.

"Oh, certainly," she said. "While she may have been attempting to unnerve you, I can safely affirm she meant it all in good humor."

"Good, good. That's what I thought," Gerald said, though he couldn't deny the wave of relief that rushed over him upon hearing that.

He and Phoebe walked up the porch steps to her front door, and now, with nowhere else to go, they turned to face each other. Silence thickened. Tension mounted. They were both thinking it. It was now or never.

"I must say, I had a great time with you this evening, Gerald," Phoebe said.

"I had a great time, too," Gerald said. "I always have fun when I'm with you. You're a fun girl to be around."

Phoebe giggled at the compliment, a blush filling her cheeks, which only made Gerald smile. _Keep it cool. Keep it cool. Keep it cool._

"Well," he said, and another brief silence followed. _C'mon, man, just do it!_ "Goodnight."

He turned away, heading down her porch steps.

 _What? You're actually_ leaving _right now? You idiot! You blew it, man!_

"Oh. Yes. Goodnight," Phoebe said.

He could hear the disappointment in her voice, masked by her usual politeness, and he winced at his own stupidity. _Maybe next time._

"Oh, dear," Phoebe suddenly said. "I believe you're forgetting—"

 _To kiss you? Yes! You're right._

Spurred by the sound of her timid voice, Gerald raced back up the steps, grabbed her by the waist and clumsily planted his lips on hers before he could stop himself. He felt her gasp against his mouth, but he was fully committed to the kiss now. With his eyes squeezed shut, he kept his lips on hers for a few seconds, before he drew back from her. She blinked, her mouth ajar.

"I—I was going to say, I believe you're forgetting your wallet."

"Oh," Gerald said, his arms falling limp. _You really_ are _an idiot._

"Of course, that's not to say I by any means have any discordant feelings whatsoever regarding the pleasing, albeit surprising, initial meeting of our lips just now. On the contrary, I've had high hopes that tonight would be the night you and I finally shared our first—"

He captured her lips again, just as enthusiastically as before, although this time, he broke it off after only a second. Phoebe stared up at him with widened eyes, and he slid a hand over the back of his neck as he let out an awkward laugh.

"Sorry," he said. "It's just, I've been wanting to do that for a really long time. Guess I got a little carried away."

"No, not at all," Phoebe said, sounding surprisingly calm. "Like I said, I've been anticipating this moment for quite some time now."

With confidence restoring, and nerves finally melting, Gerald brought his hands to her waist once more, and Phoebe even reciprocated the touch by placing her hands on his shoulders. This time, he leaned down much more smoothly, allowing their lips to meet in a much softer, much sweeter kiss.

After all, third time was indeed the charm.

* * *

Wandering around aimlessly in high heels with your feet hurting the whole time wasn't exactly the smartest idea in the world, but then, the discomfort was the least of Helga's problems. Her wanderings had led her to the bridge overlooking the lake in the park. Having slumped against the rails, she stared out at the tranquil water, admiring the way it glistened beneath the moonlight.

She'd thought about calling her mom to come pick her up, but for some reason she just wasn't in the mood to go home yet. Besides, she figured moping around outside was slightly less pathetic than moping around at home. As to why she was moping around, though, she couldn't exactly put her finger on it. It could've been from the exhaustion gradually creeping its way into her eyes and limbs after giving one too many impassioned speeches over the course of the evening. Who knew standing up for yourself could suck so much energy out of you?

Of course, the cherry on top of the crap-tacular evening was the fact that she didn't even get to see the _one_ person she'd been hoping to see all night, the one person she cared about more than anyone in the world. Maybe it was for the best, though. If she were to have seen him getting all cozy with that ditzy little Anna girl, she had no doubt she would've lost it, and then there was no telling what she would've done in her fit of blinding, jealous rage. Still, she couldn't ignore the twinge of disappointment she felt deep within her heart as she thought about him.

 _Oh, Arnold, my darling, how_ _I'd give anything to see that beautiful, oblong face of yours right at this very moment_ —

"Hi, Helga."

"Arnold," she said, springing upright. "Hi. I-I mean, what are _you_ doing here? Better yet, when are you going to stop creeping up on me like that? Speaking of, what gives? Did you _follow_ me here or something?"

"No, I was passing through when I noticed you standing out here all by yourself," he said, sidling up next to her by the rails. "Why _are_ you standing out here all by yourself?"

"Oh, you know, just reflecting on this arduous and disconcerting time known as adolescence, that's all," Helga said, as if it were nothing, and she was quick to change the subject. "What about you? How come you're not with your date, what's her name, Annabella something or other?"

"Her mom picked her up a little while ago," Arnold said.

"Wait, you mean, you didn't even offer to walk the poor girl home?" Helga said, and she shook her head in disapproval. "Man, talk about chivalry being dead. You do realize that's a big fat strike against you now, right? You're gonna have to do some serious damage control to make it up to her if you're ever going to get that chick to be your girlfriend."

"What makes you think I want her to be my girlfriend?"

Helga paused, a baffled look crossing her face. "Well, you _do,_ don't you? Why else would you have asked her to go to the dance with you?"

"I didn't ask her, Helga," Arnold said. "She asked me."

With a lightness rushing straight to her head, Helga had to stand up straighter to keep herself from falling as she said, in utter disbelief, "She asked _you?"_

"Yeah," Arnold said simply. "She and I are lab partners in biology, and she's always been really nice to me, so when she asked me if I wanted to go to the dance with her, I figured it would be a good way to get to know her better, so I agreed. Turns out I _did_ get to know her better, and, well…after tonight, I can safely say she and I aren't a good match at all. It's almost like she's… _too_ nice. She was completely terrified of upsetting me. It was a bit much, to be honest. So, at the end of the night, I told her I just wanted to be friends, and…"

"And?" Helga prodded.

"Well, let's just say, I'm probably going to have to find a new lab partner."

Helga said nothing at first, simply allowing this interesting and undeniably uplifting information to settle in, when, out of nowhere, she heard herself ask, perhaps too slyly, "So, what are you saying, exactly? That you don't like _nice_ girls?"

"I…I guess not," Arnold said, sounding surprised himself over this newfound revelation.

What propelled Helga to ask her next question, she truly had no idea. It could've been from the growing weight of exhaustion seeping into her muscles, or the fact that she probably wasn't getting enough oxygen in her brain thanks to her circulation getting cut off from those constricting shoes of hers.

Whatever the case, she found herself asking, with all the hope in her heart, in an uncharacteristically soft voice, "So, then…what _are_ you looking for in a girl?"

"Hmm," Arnold said, falling silent for a moment. He wasn't looking at her, instead staring intently at the water as he answered, "Someone who's smart, for one thing. Someone who's passionate, who knows what she wants out of life. Someone with strong opinions, who can challenge me, or even knock some sense into me when I need it. Someone who's bold and isn't afraid to stand up for what she believes in. Someone like—"

He suddenly met her eyes, as if seeing her anew, and for a single, astounding, _perfect_ moment, the stars in the universe all aligned, and Helga's heart quivered in a wild fluttering of infinite affection. He'd certainly never looked at her like _that_ before. Her knees weakened under the intensity of his gaze.

"Well," she said, knowing she probably sounded as insanely lovesick as she felt, yet somehow, finding herself unable to care. "I'm sure a girl like that is out there, somewhere. You'll find her someday. Anyway, I should probably call it a night."

After barely taking a few steps, though, she sucked in a sharp breath over the painful ache in her feet, and she couldn't take it anymore. Stooping to the ground, she pulled off both of her heels and immediately exhaled a huge sigh of relief, until she heard Arnold speak up again.

"You know, Helga, I wasn't going to say anything, but…I overheard what you said to Gerald and Phoebe earlier. You know, about Nate."

Helga froze at that, only to hurriedly collect herself as she turned around and said, "So?"

"So, I think it's amazing that you stood up for yourself and didn't do something you'd likely regret just to fit in with the popular kids," Arnold said. "You should be proud of yourself. That's a really courageous and admirable thing to do."

"Yeah, well…" She trailed off, her usual hotheaded temper completely failing to reach her in that moment. She tried her best to hide the giddy embarrassment quickly rising within her by slapping on her usual scowl, but she could already feel it waning. "Whatever. It's not that big a deal. If Nate wants to drink and smoke with his idiotic friends, that's _his_ life to screw up, not mine. Anyway, like I said before, I'm calling it a night. I'll see ya later."

She'd taken all of three steps when the sound of Arnold's voice brought her to another stop.

"Helga."

And, against her better judgment, she turned around to face him once more.

"What?"

He took a step towards her.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked, extending his hand out to her.

There was only a second of hesitation on her part, but only because she was so shocked out of her senses, her heart all but exploding. When she got a hold of herself, she dropped her shoes and ambled up to him, letting her palm gently slip into his hand.

Arnold enclosed his hands around the small of her back, while Helga brought her hands to his shoulders. They fell into step with one another, swaying together gently, leisurely, with nothing but the calming sound of the water beneath their feet to serve as their music.

"Boy, Arnold, since when did you get to be such a charmer?" Helga asked, her lips lifting in a teasing smirk.

"I don't know," he said, only to return the playful smirk. "Since when did you stop calling me football head?"

They danced well into the night, and later, after he'd walked her home, Helga lay awake in her bed, replaying the lovely turn of events that had unfolded between them. She realized her mom had been right in the end. This really did turn out to be one truly wonderful night.

And, maybe, just maybe, dances weren't so stupid after all.


End file.
